


rising water

by hicsvntdracones



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Edmonton Oilers, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hicsvntdracones/pseuds/hicsvntdracones
Summary: His mind is clear enough that he knows this,thisis what he wants.[Connor goes into an unexpected heat during the home opener of the season.]





	rising water

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. so.
> 
> happy early bday to meg who i love and adore and torment w mclooch aus day in and day out. this is for u. and becs and molls and J and to all mclooch lovers just lookin for some love. 
> 
> i wanted to give fandom just one more freakin a/b/o/ au, but i tend to dislike how powerless a lot of omegas are typically portrayed in fic? so i took things into my own hands. i wanted to give some more control to the omega dynamic or at least, like. between connor and looch themselves to create a more balanced and respectful relationship. there's mention of a past relationship between looch and tyler seguin during their time in boston and a fwb situation between connor and hall/gazdic.
> 
> i will likely turn this into a chaptered fic w more of a plot, but for now, just this. i hope this fic is to y'all's liking, hope it's nasty enough. title from the song by james vincent mcmorrow. enjoy

 

 

 

Connor feels the glass shake as Engellund hits him. It's not the hardest hit Connor's ever taken. His mind flashes to orange and white, a searing pain. Somebody sneering above him. He doesn't go down. He turns, and all of a sudden, Looch is on Engellund. Their gloves slide across the ice, and the twenty-seven on his back burns into Connor's head. He's stuck, drifting back to gently bump against the boards as he stares at the brawl. Looch gets him in the ribs, Engellund can't get him at all.

Looch's teeth are bared, and Connor shudders at the sight.

Rogers Place is alive. Cheering, _screaming_. His head spins.

Nuge leans over to Connor during intermission and asks if he's okay. Ebs is watching him on the other side, and Connor smiles at them both to try and ease their fears.

"I'm fine," He insists. Even after his time in Erie and the month of the World Cup, when he runs his fingertips over the C on his chest, it feels strange and out of place. He wonders if Ebs and Nuge still see him as a rookie who needs a firm hand to guide him.

He forces himself to breathe.

The arena's roar is deafening as he takes his penalty shot. His heart pounds over the sound of the goal horn. Looch is the first person who congratulates him on the bench, laughing in his ear and praising his hands, his hands. Connor smiles and memorizes the weight of Looch's hand on his shoulder.

He barely remembers the rest of the game. Ebs is calling for one of the trainers as they go down the tunnel. His whole body feels hot and aching. Nuge's hand on him is gentle, but Connor wants it to be tight, demanding. It's not in Nuge's nature, not in Ebs' either. Connor's mouth is dry.

The room feels sterile despite its furnishings, the lights are far too bright. He throws his gear on the floor and sits on the edge of the bed, groaning into his hands as another wave of warmth pulses through him. He misses Taylor, misses Luke. Connor tries to remember whose name he wrote on his form that morning. The med staff had been nagging him since he returned from the Cup. Both of his approved alphas were gone, and he had to update his form. Who did he put, who—

When the door opens and Connor catches the scent of _protection, sweat, command_ , he feels himself get wet.

Looch.

"Fuck." Connor whimpers as Looch steps into the room and locks the door. He ducks his head down, suddenly full of shame. He was going to discuss this with him, was going to talk it out like adults, professionals. He squeezes his thighs together as Looch speaks to try to ease the ache,

"Listen, kid—"

" _Don't_ ," He rasps, "Don't... call me kid."

Looch pauses, then concedes,

" _Connor_."

He shudders. He sees the bold twenty-seven, the gloves on the ice. His whole body is impossibly hot.

"We haven't talked about this," Connor prays Looch isn't about to refuse. "But whatever you need, I'll give it to you. I'm here for you, okay?"

Connor lifts his head and sees him still standing by the door. As if Connor would tell him to leave despite having written his name on his heat partner form. Connor must say his name, must beckon him forward, because Looch is standing in front of him in an instant. He has to take a moment just to inhale his scent. He's stripped down to his under armor, reeking of sweat and _victory_. Looch says his name, and Connor squints up to see him against the harsh lights.

"Is it too bright?" Looch asks, and Connor nods. Before he can speak, Looch goes to turn off the lights, leaving only a dim desk lamp to illuminate that corner of the room. "Better?"

Connor's eyes adjust, and he mumbles a quiet yes as Looch grabs supplies from the box on the desk. Without turning, he tells Connor to sit back against the pillows. Connor obeys. Every word Looch says is low and easy. He exudes an air of unmistakable alpha confidence, and Connor knows Looch knows what he's doing. When Looch tells him to strip, he strips. When Looch gives him his own shirt to wear, Connor slides it on over his head. He looks at the twenty-seven and bites his lip.

He knows he's soaking the bedsheets beneath him with slick, but he can't tell his body to calm down. Looch is wearing only his compression shorts now, kneeling on the bed in front of Connor. His eyes are dark, his body silhouetted by the dim desk lamp.

"If you say stop, I'll stop. Understand?"

He nods.

"Say it, Connor."

His voice is thick as he whispers,

"I understand. Looch, just—" Connor trails off as Looch wraps his hand around Connor's ankle, thumbing the skin there.

"If we're going to do this, call me Milan. Please."

He swallows, prays his voice doesn't crack.

"Milan, I need you."

Looch — _Milan_ , it's Milan, Connor reminds himself in a haze — leans forward to kiss him then. His lips are a bit dry, but they're warm and he kisses Connor like he cares, and it makes his body burn hotter than ever before. Milan tilts his head and parts his lips, and Connor absolutely chokes on his want. When Milan pulls back, he pulls back only an inch and even then, he's too far.

"What do you want, Connor?" He asks, and Connor wants to say _everything_. Everything and anything that Milan can give, Connor wants.

He must not respond, since Milan bumps their noses together to get his attention.

"Is it okay if I eat you out?"

"Wh-what?" Connor flushes and asks embarrassingly, "Why?"

He feels Milan smiling in the way the air shifts and his scent turns from sharp to soft, as if he was trying to exert a feeling of comfort and safety for Connor to latch onto. He wants to tell him it's not his first time, but such a remark would leave him feeling even more childlike and naïve.

"Because I think you'll like it, and you smell _really_ good."

"Oh." He exhales. He doesn't hear himself say anything, but he feels himself nod and then Milan is turning him, positioning him. There's a pillow under his hips, and he's facedown in the pillows, inhaling the clean, clinical scent. Connor folds his arms underneath himself so he can press his face into the sleeve of Milan's shirt and his body relaxes in response to the smell. Milan nudges his thighs apart, and Connor feels his hands firm on his ass. He can only think about how big Milan's hands are for a second before he feels Milan's tongue, his _tongue_.

The noise Connor makes is weak and raw.

Milan has him shaking in a matter of minutes, licking him open and fucking two fingers in and out of him. Milan's fingertips dig into the meat of his ass, and Connor prays there will be marks to remember this by. Milan's talking, praising him over and over. He tastes good, he tells Connor, he tastes _divine_. He calls Connor _baby_ , a slip of the tongue, metaphorically speaking, and Connor shudders through his first orgasm of the night.

"Oh," Milan says, and then again with more heat, " _Oh_."

Connor comes again on Milan's tongue before he remembers that he has control here. Whatever you need, Milan had said.

"Fuck," He whines against the shirt sleeve, "Fuck me already, Looch."

Milan's teeth graze the curve of his ass, his lips skirting along the dip in his back. He whines,

" _Milan, please_." A note of desperation floods his entire voice, and he hears Milan inhale sharply. It was such a — _fuck_ — it was such an omega sound, high and needy. Begging for his alpha. It must register something primal in Milan, must tug at his instincts, because he's suddenly pressed to Connor's back, teeth at Connor's neck as his cock pushes up against Connor through his compression shorts. Connor feels wet when Milan speaks,

"Like this?" He rasps, "Hands and knees, you want that? Tell me what you need, baby."

"Back," Connor manages to say. "I … I wanna see."

He wants to see Milan's face, his eyes, wants to see how Milan's cock looks, hard and swollen, covered in his slick. He wants to see it all. Milan hums in understanding and bumps his nose against the back of Connor's ear before drawing back to shift their positions and get Connor on his back comfortably. He shifts the pillow so Connor's hips are propped up, his pale legs strewn on either side of his thighs. Milan takes off his shorts, and Connor swallows as he openly takes in the size of him. Ever an alpha, despite already being hard, Milan strokes himself for Connor to see. It makes his tongue feel heavy in his mouth and he shifts his thighs wider, an invitation, as more slick drips onto the bed sheets.

"I need …" Connor struggles, repeats the word with nothing to finish the phrase. Milan seems to understand that Connor simply _needs_ , and for this, Connor is grateful.

"I'll take care of you," Milan murmurs like a promise as he chases Connor's nerves away with a kiss.

Milan starts to tear open the condom wrapper, and Connor says _don't_. He catches Milan's hand and presses his thumb against the inside of his upper arm, a wordless way of explaining that he has the typical omega birth control implant. He takes pills for suppressants, but this covers unwanted surprises.

"'m clean." He mumbles, shyly. As if he weren't spread open about to be fucked within an inch of his life by his new alpha linemate. Milan asks him if he's sure about the condom, and Connor forces himself to vocalize his response so Milan is comfortable enough to continue. He's the one kissing away nerves this time, and if he had more of his wits about him, he'd almost think to laugh. A nineteen year old omega assuring a twenty-eight year old alpha. He'd dwell on it more if Milan's fingers weren't inside of him again.

Two feels good, three feels great. Connor rocks his hips to meet Milan's fingers. He scissors his fingers just a hint and Connor nearly cries,

" _Milan_."

Milan takes his fingers away for a moment, and a moment feels too much, but then his cock is pushing at his entrance and Connor does cry then. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to let instinct take over, tries to tell his body to relax, but all he can think about is how this is _Milan Lucic_ above him. He's wanted this for so long, fuck.

"Hey—" Milan says sharply, and Connor's eyes snap open. He's not moving, hands still on Connor's hips. Connor thinks Milan looks angry at first, but then Connor registers it as concern. After seeing he has Connor's attention, he smiles faintly. "You look good in my shirt, you know."

Connor furrows his brow in confusion, then he looks down at the shirt. Oh. He throws an arm across his face and inhales deep. _Safe, home, alpha_. He takes a few breaths and his body loosens itself all over again. Milan traces circles with his thumbs on Connor's hipbones as they wait. He nods, moves his arm so he can see Milan as they try again.

Connor's moan gets stretched over a few syllables as Milan pushes inside. It feels like forever til Milan is fully seated inside him, hips flush to Connor's. He opens his eyes blearily and sees Milan's eyebrows scrunched together as if concentrating. He's waiting. Fuck. Connor's chest wells with a feeling he dares not name.

"It's okay," He murmurs. "Move."

He falls in and out of awareness as Milan fucks him. He comes again, and then another time maybe. His cock feels heavy on his stomach yet empty too. His head is full of thoughts and blank at the same time. He must scream, or at least cry, because his throat feels raw and torn after the fourth time he comes. Connor touches his chest and must recognize that Milan likes that, because whenever he pinches his nipples, Milan thrusts hard enough Connor really swears he sees stars.

Coming four times is normally enough to break his heat, five if he's been delaying. He's starting to gain some clarity after the fifth orgasm, but he feels his body still begging for something else, something more. His voice sounds strange as he asks Milan,

"Your knot. Can you …?" He watches the way Milan's eyes widen, then darken considerably. Luke sometimes knotted him. It made Connor's head spin in the best way. Taylor didn't. Couldn't, maybe, and toy knots were never quite enough. His mind is clear enough that he knows this, this is what he wants. Milan kisses Connor for a long time, fierce and hungry. His lips are red and swollen when he pulls back.

"Anything, baby, anything you need." Relief washes over Connor as well as a new wave of arousal. He runs his hands through Milan's sweat-slick black hair and manages a little smile of gratitude.

"Is it okay … your hands and knees … again?" He asks in between kisses, and Connor quickly consents. Connor's arms are shaky underneath him as they reposition. He feels empty without Milan's cock and is glad at least that Milan doesn't stop kissing him even if their lips are now apart. He kisses behind Connor's ear, the nape of his neck, the crease between his shoulder blades and the bumps of his spine. So fucking beautiful, he whispers roughly,

"Going to give you my knot, baby. _Fuck_ , gonna fill you up." He fits easily back inside Connor, and Connor groans at how perfect he feels, long and full and just perfect. His knees would give out if Milan wasn't holding him up by his hips. He whimpers, and Milan starts the same rough pace that just had Connor crying his name. He gasps when Milan starts to really speak filth. Even if he pulled out right now, Connor would remember his words for years to come. Tears prickle at his eyes again as his orgasm builds in the pit of his belly. He's close, Milan is too.

" _Milan_ , c'mon, please, god, _please_ ," He cries as Milan digs his fingers harshly into his hips. His thrusts are hard and off-rhythm, filling Connor each time until he finally—

" _Connor_."

He chokes on the sob that leaves him when Milan's knot swells inside of him. He feels Milan's come, hot and thick filling him as Milan gives a few last little thrusts to make sure he's as deep inside Connor as he can be, an alpha fucking his come into _his_ omega. Connor's cock hurts, he's come so much. God. Six, if he managed to keep count. Milan might have a different number, but he was considerably more coherent through the entire thing. He buries his face in his shirt sleeve to wipe away the sweat and tears staining his face at the moment. He's exhausted, he realizes blearily.

Through his thoughts, he hears Milan saying his name. He asks Connor if he's okay, and Connor sighs heavily before saying yes.

"Better than okay. Just … tired now." Milan's hand strokes his waist gently through the cotton of his shirt. He murmurs soft words as he lays them both down carefully, still deep in Connor as he pulls him tight to his chest. He tucks his knees behind Connor's and, after pulling the blankets over them, settles his arm around Connor's chest comfortably. Connor wants to ask how long it will take Milan's knot to go down. It always depended on the alpha, on the mood. The link between the two. Connor flushes to think of them being stuck for very long. He has no idea how much time has passed, he realizes. Somewhere between the brawl along the boards and now, his heat sprung upon him and then, well. They're here now. He feels Milan nosing at his neck cautiously, smelling Connor's mood as Connor stays silent in his arms. He's exhausted, he hopes Milan sees. Smells. He focuses on how Milan's heartbeat feels beside his own, and sleep finds him soon enough.

 

He wakes up to Milan's hand pressed firmly to his chest. Glancing at the clock on the far wall, Connor sees it's far past midnight. Thankfully, they're home in Edmonton already, and no one's waiting for them to board a plane anytime soon. He feels empty, he thinks quietly. Milan's knot must have gone down and he likely pulled out before he also fell asleep. Part of him wonders if it's his nature that makes him feel lonely when someone leaves so soon after the deed is done, or if it's just he himself who feels that way. Milan didn't leave though. He's here, still holding him. He focuses instead on the feeling of his steady heartbeat under Milan's heavy hand, tries not to let his heart skip a beat as he remembers what Milan had said.

Whatever you want.

Anything.

"What're you thinking about?" Milan murmurs against the back of his neck. Connor's heart does skip then. When he spends too long trying to come up with a response, Milan curls Connor a bit closer, lips at Connor's ear. "You can trust me, Connor. I told you, I'm here for you, okay?"

Connor nods minutely and reaches up to rest his hand over Milan's.

"Tyler said you were good to him," Connor whispers to the dimly lit room. It's Milan's turn to be quiet for a moment, and Connor hopes he didn't say the wrong thing.

"I tried to be," Milan says softly as he settles back behind Connor. His grip is looser now. "I couldn't be everything he needed, but I tried to be good at least."

Connor remembers why he wrote Milan's name on his papers that morning. Tyler told him that Milan would be good. Not just good as in a good lay,

"He's kinder than you'd expect," Tyler had said at camp that summer. He handed Connor a bottle to drink, and Connor looked up at him with wide eyes. Connor surprised himself by asking,

"What's he like?" Tyler smirked then, pushed Connor's hair back from his face and leaned in close, teeth grazing Connor's ear teasingly.

"He's _big_ ," Tyler murmurs, "Strong. He can hold you down, fill you up." Connor felt his face heat up at the thought. Tyler's hand curled around the back of his neck, and he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Connor's jaw. "He'll make you come til you're crying and begging him to stop, fuck you so hard you feel it for days. You'll love it, Connor. Fuck—" His chuckle sent a shiver through him, and Connor had to close his eyes as Tyler said, "You'll love _him_."

They're completely alone in the arena by the time Milan finally convinces Connor to get up and get cleaned. He lets Milan guide him from the emergency heat room through the locker room and into the showers when he crowds Connor under the shower's spray and kiss him senseless once more. Drowsy, Connor closes his eyes as Milan cleans him, using his own body wash and shampoo to cover him in his scent. He could drown in this moment if he just let go right now. Milan runs the warm washcloth down Connor's stomach, between his thighs. It's all a dozen times more gentle than Connor expected from him. He expected— well, he isn't sure what he expected, even having heard Tyler's words. He only knows he wasn't expecting this.

Whatever "this" is.

Connor manages to dress himself for the most part. His own clothes feel strange on him, too scratchy and too smelling overwhelmingly plain. Nothing feels right, smells right. He watches Milan tying his own shoes and looks down at his bare feet. He shoves his socks on too quickly and shoves his feet into his too tight shoes.

"Hey," Milan calls gently, and Connor looks up again. He's holding out his hoodie for him to take, "Wear it. Please." An alpha saying please. Connor would snicker if he weren't already pulling the sweatshirt over his head and shoving his nose none too subtly into the collar. This. This feels right. Smells right.

He catches the way Milan smiles at him and lets himself stare at the expression for a second longer than he should.

Milan drives him home, and Connor doesn't argue. His head lolls against his shoulder as they drive and he dozes lightly. Darnell looks at Connor strangely as he opens the door wearing worn plaid pajama bottoms and nothing else. Milan doesn't step over the threshold as he passes Connor into Darnell's care. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Connor thinks about alpha-beta etiquette and the importance of a beta's designated space. He lets Darnell put his hands on him and stops thinking about much at all except the comfort of his bed and the scent of Milan around him.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/glorypaid) | [tumblr](https://mjanmarks.tumblr.com)


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